


A Quiet Sense of Power

by Belladonna_Q



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Animal Traits, Art and Fic Collaboration, Blood, Body Horror, Episode: S2e09 Shiizakana, Halloween Prompt Fill, M/M, Transformation, Wendigo, Wendigo Hannibal, Werewolf Will, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-28 13:23:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5092370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Belladonna_Q/pseuds/Belladonna_Q
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First one of Reapersun and BelladonnaQ's Halloween Prompt Fill: </p><p>"Werewolf!Will and Wendigo!Hannibal. Hannibal encouraging Will to wreak havoc while shedding his own person suit to expose his true self." </p><p>Combining submitted prompts and ideas from Tumblr users: @221bringyourgun, @bluesrat, @granpappy-winchester, @honestly-adorkable, @angelblack3 & anons</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Quiet Sense of Power

**Author's Note:**

> ~Thank you Catie-Brie for the beta!

1.

There’s that familiar element of complete unreality to it all. Even as he sits up, bloodied hands struggling on slick snow to find purchase, he waits for it all to crack into focus. The way his body surges into motion, gasping like a man breaking through the sea, it’s all so artificial. In a few moments, he’ll wake. Twisted in a damp sheet, soaked and shaken and wondering why his fevered brain has spit this all out for him. He waits to breathe properly. To feel that realization of home, of warmth and safety, and roll back over. Back to sleep and into a calmer dreamscape.

Because this just isn’t real. He refuses to believe it’s real.

There’s an ache radiating through his body, tunneling into muscle and marrow but it’s distant, no longer the piercing misery he knows it once was. His heart hammers, an iron-bull battering against his rib-cage, and he shifts again. Pushing himself up onto hands and knees, spine popping at the motion, his entire frame gives a full body shiver from the crushed slush of snow beneath him.

There’s a burst of excited noises just before him. Of whining, snapping, growling —all sounding so confused and frightened. He looks up, head swaying heavily at the movement, as the dogs abound the porch, sniffing the air and circling him with what he can only describe as wary optimism. Their tails are a mixture of wagging and tucking as they pace the front door anxiously.

“Hey guys,” he attempts, but he coughs several times, throat tight. He works some spit into his ash-dry mouth as he finds his footing and stands.

He’s naked, and that profoundly false, simulated sensation is back. A bad dream, the university nightmare. Walking into class on exam day with nothing but tighty-whities—‘So sorry professor!’ The laughter loud and humiliation acrid before he wakes up and all is fine. But this time there is nothing. Nothing for him but the sounds of his animals shifting impatiently against wooden slates and crunching ice beneath his body and his own, now labored, breathing.

_What have you done now, Will?_

“Stay calm. Just stay calm,” he shakes out, it’s to himself more so than to the dogs. He blinks into the porch light as he makes his way up the steps on unsteady bare feet. He clenches and unclenches his left hand and the pain once again buds as if he were squeezing several needled thorns.

There’s blood and so much of it. He looks behind him, at his disheveled imprint in the snow, a trail of surreal bright crimson leading from the woods to his doorstep. So much red against white he struggles to even see it, to even comprehend. His body is slick with melted sleet and blood drips from his fingertips, his chin, its smears defacing his body. Rolling drops make their way down his belly and thighs, mixing with the moisture of sweat and snow, flowering pink.

There’s viscera under his nails and his mouth tastes of dry copper.

_You’ve lost control._

“Just stay calm,” he repeats making it through the front door, shivering now, teeth beginning to clatter.

There’s a startled bark, and he spins to see Winston, backing himself into the living room wall. The dog’s lips twitch, baring black gums and white fangs, ears pinned back and flushed against his skull.

“Winston—” Will takes a step, and the animal’s panicked, rapid snarl makes him flinch with surprise. He watches, feeling helpless, as his dog begins to shake, urinating before him on the rug in terror before bolting away. The others follow, peeling away from the porch and doorframe one after the other, slipping around the furniture and deserting him.

Finding his way to his couch, he seats and curls himself, everything still so frigid and yet so fevered, and swiftly drawing closer to numb. He pulls his legs up to his bare chest and he lets out a shaken exhale. Will gives into to his compulsion to rock slightly, allowing friction and motion to warm himself, to quiet his mind and to lull.

It fails.

_What have I done?_

He continues to tremble from cold, from the unease of it all, focusing on breathing, focusing on staying calm.

_Just stay calm._

He watches his trembling hands, transfixed, as the blood begins to brown.

 

 

2.

 “You’re quite early for our session, Will.” Hannibal allows him immediate entry, the door swinging effortlessly. As he enters, the doctor gives him an inspective once-over, before closing the door behind him. Will can only imagine what he sees.

“Sorry about that, Dr. Lecter,” he says in a light tone that suggests he isn’t at all. “I was anxious to get here.”

“Has something happened?” Hannibal asks, unbuttoning the front of his jacket as he sits, motioning with an open palm for Will to do the same in the chair before him. “You look pale. Stressed.”

Will gives a grimaced chuckle. “More so than usual?”

“Yes. It’s in the eyes.” The man folds his hands into his lap, patient. “You say you were anxious to get here. I can only assume something unexpected has occurred.”

After a reflective pause, “You know I almost went to your home late last night.” Will puts all his focus onto the detail of the cushion beneath him, stroking its stitching. His fingers flare alive with pain and he quickly brings them together, cupping them against his chest. He bites the inside of his lip to keep himself from making a sound.

Hannibal regards him without expression. “And why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know,” Will shrugs. “I didn’t feel it was… safe.”

“For you?” At the telling silence, Hannibal tilts his head. “Or not safe for me?”

“I think I…” the words catch in his throat. He closes his mouth and simply shakes his head.

“Another fantasy, perhaps?” Hannibal supplies easily. “Of killing me once again?”

“Not a fantasy this time. And this isn’t you…I…I think I’ve done something terrible, Dr. Lecter.” It’s only then that his voice warbles tellingly.

The response is a slow blink and stare, a calculated gaze of pure assessment.

“That can mean a great many things as of late, Will.”

Will nods, working his jaw to force the sentences out. “I woke up in the snow. I had come from somewhere in the woods.”

“Sleep walking.” Hannibal looks anything but convinced at his own words. “I thought we had worked that issue out.”

“This was different.”

“How so?”

After a moment, Will squeezes his hands together, skin tight and uncomfortable. His wrists feel as if they might snap. “Horror.” It’s the only descriptor that comes to mind.

Hannibal considers. “One of your biggest fears is your loss of control.”

“I don’t even know if I have any control left over my life to lose,” Will snorts, leaning back in his seat. “And with you? I’ve never had it.”

“And if you could capture it?” Hannibal pauses and when Will remains silent but curious, he continues. “If you could seize that power? That control?”

The battering bull is suddenly back in force, crushing now against his throat and gut. Will gives his head several hard shakes, as if hearing a sharp, unpleasant noise.

_Stay calm._

“The dogs,” he says, aiming to refocus, but the mention tugs despair into his lungs. He brings a hand to his temple, pressing as if it could possibly alleviate the persistent weight now increasing. A black noise is blaring. “The dogs won’t come to me. They won’t…They won’t come near me.”

“And how does that make you feel?”

“How do you think it makes me feel!?” Will explodes. It is a completely irrational reaction, but the restraint system in his brain ceases entirely. Now finally the pressure drops like a severed cord and he stands. Just as quickly, anticipating, Hannibal rises as well, but he isn’t swift enough, not nearly, and the satisfaction of catching the other is immensely gratifying. He hooks Hannibal by the throat and shoves him to the dark mahogany crafted cabinet, effectively pinning. A vase resting at the top wobbles precariously at the impact.

“Is this me taking back my control, Dr. Lecter?” And that powerful feeling rises once more, filling him to the brim.

_Create your own design, Will._

“Yes,” Hannibal’s hair is tossed over his eyes and he looks at Will through the fringe. Will might have the temporary power, but the other’s look is pure predator. One of an apex hunter that is simply waiting for opportunity. “You still do not see what you are becoming. What you are.”

_This is your control._

“And what are  _you_?” Will spits back.

Hannibal grins, face splitting into a silent mockery of a laugh.  “Not like you, Will. But not unlike you as well.”

Will goes to speak but his mouth is filled with fangs.

“Do you remember what you said, Will?” Hannibal continues casually, as if he doesn’t see, doesn’t notice the panic and confusion welling in Will’s eyes. Malformed hands collar around his neck, locking as strongly as steel. There’s a nick of sharp claw against Hannibal’s jugular. It’s exhilarating.

“You said you would find more satisfaction in killing me with your bare hands, than with a gun.” He reaches up, clutching Will’s wrists, testing. Will snarls low in his throat and Hannibal finds Will’s grip to be iron-strong. “I am wondering if tooth and claw would serve a far more purposeful kill for you. It could quite possibly be the epitome of intimacy. When one is forced to survive, or protect, we can do unspeakable things.”

At that, Will exhales with a sharp cry, a piercing howl, and the dark blare ignites in his mind. His innards are twisting as if one were wringing out a sponge. There’s a torsion so brutal it leaves him breathless and he releases Hannibal, sagging to the floor, claws digging into his knees and raking into floorboards.

He hears Hannibal circle him, but only barely, only by the gentle shuffling of clothing on clothing. “Do you see now, Will?”

Will looks up.

“Do you see?”

And Will sees.  

Onyx skin, and unblemished and smooth as marble under a heavy rack of long, spiked points, framed around a bare skull if it were a regal crown. He is eyeless but Will knows him to be all seeing, and the tilt of his head is so unnerving, Will begins to shake. In a flicker, Hannibal, the human suit, is before him.

“You’ve always seen what I’ve wished you to see. Now, you’ve finally come into your own,” Hannibal states with a casual adjustment of his tie. “This isn’t only about control. This is about suffering and transformation. A transition to something more. Into an Other. This is about you finally becoming a beast to remove yourself from the pain of being a man.”

“ _What are you_?” Will manages, somehow, to speak despite the anguish in his gut and the sear in his jaw. There’s a sudden burst of needles behind his watering eyes. “What have you done?”

“I have done nothing to cause this. This is what you have made yourself. Nature simply taking its due course.”

“Stop it!” Will snarls and the act of speaking causes his lip to split open, tooth and tongue staining them red. “You’re lying to me.”

“I thought we had an agreement. I do not lie to you so long as you do not lie to me. So,” Hannibal crouches low to him, the pinnacle of placidity. He’s so near, Will can scent the man’s aftershave and something beneath. Something of familiarity and home. Of dead things—rotten leaves and wet tree bark.

Hannibal reaches and rakes a hand through his sweat soaked hair. He gets a fistful and tugs at the roots. “What did you do last night, Will?”

“I don’t know,” he growls, and it comes deep from a well inside his chest. It’s the truth, not a lie, but perhaps one by omission. “I woke up in the snow. I came from the woods,” he repeats.

Hannibal leans forward. “And what can we do to have you take back your control?”

_We._

 

 

3.

The scent of gun oil escapes into the air, a canine calls out in pain and Will Graham can scarcely see beyond the ruby-tinted tide of rage flooding before his eyes.

Where once uncertainty and fear ballooned, it finds itself now shuttered and compressed into something else altogether. Something manic yet abnormally calm.

Stumbling down a snowy embankment he had been worried, afraid, to stumble and trip, lose his footing and drop his pack mate or his weapon. He had been afraid and now…The quiet and collected wrath he feels is practically inconceivable.

Buster whines again, hurt, and the dogs, in unison, now as his pack, stand between Will and the windows. They are snarling with a savagery Will can’t help but take pride in. And beyond that, he can smell,  _smell_ , the death and decay. Of the bleached bone and crumbling marrow which pervades his assailant. Of metal joints and pins with dyed cloth as false hides.

_"Do you know what it's like when the skin you're wearing doesn't fit?" This man had once asked him._

A man, simply a man, who wishes himself a beast.

_“When one is forced to survive, or protect, we can do unspeakable things.”_

When the glass shatters and the shards fall, Will ducks and wheels, giving the young man a look, a clear look, at his human suit before tossing the gun to his side.

The hot hurt of transformation through his body is sharp and swift as terrified black eyes look upon him as he rises up and the dogs howl.

Will becomes the very thing that Randall Tier craves.

 

 

4.

When he brings Randall’s body to Hannibal it is with little ceremony.

He huffs, dragging the man’s corpse by the meat of his shoulder along the length of the table. Releasing his jaws, he drops Randall heavily on its surface.

He gives his head a hard, satisfied shake, drips of wet blood splattering against the wall. The heavy red of it has soaked into his seal-brown fur, drizzling from his fanged chops and he’s never felt more human. More alive. He steps back, watching how the man’s underbelly sags, entrails exposed in soft, supple strands.

Randall Tier is reduced to a weeping mass of brick-red guts and pale flesh.

Will is satiated.

He goes to stand, to _shift_ , reaching for the edge of the table, forcing a bipedal position. His back and hips crack in quiet protest. He gives a low grunt as he changes and his large, triangular ears swivel in slight surprise as the door opens.

He is flooded with the scent of Hannibal and of Other. He nearly sways at it, belly jerking with an unnamable craving. Hannibal enters, eyes quickly sweeping the body, the table, the blood— before settling onto Will’s naked form. It might have seemed but a casual glance, but Will knows the Other has seen everything necessary.

There’s that small voice of betrayal, of anger, lurking. He bares his canines for emphasis. “I’d say this makes us even. I send someone to kill you, you send someone to kill me…” Will motions with a clawed hand to his shredded kill. “Even Steven.”

Hannibal studies him, before pressing his lips together and stepping forward in a single confident stride. “Is that so?” As Will lifts a lip in a silent snarl, Hannibal continues. “I consider it more as a gift, Will. An offering. Tell me, how did it feel?”

Will takes a breath and looks to the body once more. “It was… intimate.”

“As I had said. The epitome of intimacy.”

Will nods, “I’ve never felt as alive as I did when I was killing him.”

“Then you owe Randall Tier a debt.”

“And to you as well, I suppose,” Will slowly rounds the table, approaching low and predacious. He watches Hannibal straighten imperceptibly and sees revelation flare bright in his eyes. It thrills him.

“You said for me to take it back, Doctor. To take back my design.” He looks down at the table. “This _is_ my design. My control.”

Hannibal lifts his chin. “Then wield it.”

Will could not claim the tether finally snapped. There was no tether, no leash, nothing to contain or bind him. It was easy. Like skimming the surface of his restraint and command. Of being able to fully grasp and employ his change, his body.

At his touch against Hannibal, claw against cloth, it all peeled away and stripped, revealing. Will’s Other, his shadowed Stag, his veiled man, combined together with ebony skin crafted over lean muscle. A sleek rack of antlers naked before him. All ten-points under a smooth skull, Will is suddenly herded to step back by its carved ends. Blackened slivers of bone cage him as the Other, Hannibal, approaches.Will stops in his tracks, vaguely confused.

At his hesitation, several points catches him in the belly and nick, slicing a neat cuts as Hannibal leans forward and bucks. Will snarls, foam at the edge of his lips, as he snatches with a large, taloned hand and grips what aims to lead him. Antler in his gripped claw, he can see a silvery flick of eyes, a crack of pearled teeth; a grin through the veneer. Will pushes, the wolf inside prickling with excitement. He displays his fangs and a great tail raises high.

At the wolf’s demand, they topple to the ground.

His Other on his belly, the plane of his back exposed before him, Will needles his claws through obsidian skin, carving with red and claiming as he mounts. His cock draws to his stomach, heavy with craving, head beading wet with slick. Hannibal draws a breath, quiet and shivering as Will presses into him, the Other taking it, craving Will and this brandishing of power. The guttural, inhuman noises of his Other, of his pleasure, spurs him like a whip on his flank.When they return, pleasured and sated, they stare at one other, silent and significant.

At Will’s command, he and his Other bleed into the night as comfortably as the stars.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!~ I'm kinda in love with werewolf! Will. I can totally see myself writing more.
> 
> Fan fiction by [BelladonnaQ ](http://www.reapersun.tumblr.com)and Art by [Reapersun](http://www.reapersun.tumblr.com)


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